Congratulations James Personerson!

Today you’re going to get up from bed and brush your teeth. Then you’re going to get into the shower and clean your body in a normal fashion, scrubbing yourself with soap and water mixed together in a loofah.

Then you’ll go downstairs and kiss your wife on the mouth before enjoying a brief, nutritious breakfast with her. You’ll get into your car and drive your kids to school and then, following that, go off to work, where you’ll manage the shipping and receiving manifests for a small agri-food focused transport consortium. At about noon or so you’ll take a lunch break, during which you’ll eat a sandwich you packed earlier that day.

Far, far later you’ll uncover a human trafficking ring being run out of some of your shipping containers.

“Well,” you’ll declare to no one in particular. “That’s quite a doozy.”

You’ll promptly call the FBI, who’ll take over the investigation from there. Then you’ll go home and watch premium cable with your wife.

“I love you and the relatively uneventful life we maintain,” you’ll tell her, after relating the hilarious series of mishaps that led you to discovering the human trafficking ring.

“I’m glad that series of events you described didn’t interfere with the daily flow of our very very average lives,” your wife will retort.

The two of you will laugh at length before turning off the TV, checking to make sure your kids are asleep and putting on your leather masks for some really intense bondage sex.

Congratulations James Personerson!

Congratulations on Murdering Wolfgang Puck!

Everyone hates Wolfgang Puck. Spago’s is basically just a slave trafficking ring that also serves food and every restaurant that he’s founded since has just been another black site in his human trafficking empire. People put up with it because America fucking loves its celebrities, but today it’s gonna stop. And you’re gonna be the one to stop it.

Today you’re going to walk into Spago on one of the nights where he’s checking out the operation wielding a fire axe. While most people are just sitting around waiting for a glimpse of the chef himself, you’re going to walk right back into the kitchen, which is actually filled with horrified young women, and drive your axe into the small of Puck’s back as he “inspects the product” by tepidly groping a weeping young Filipina girl.

Puck will cry out and try to shift away, but the axe will have damaged his spinal column and, with it buried inside of his back, you’ll be able to pull him towards you a little before you draw it out and slam it into the back of his skull, ending his reign of terror once and for all.

The women in the kitchen will begin cheering immediately, rattling their chains so loudly that all of the diners inside of Spago will be able to hear them. You’ll move from woman to woman, destroying their chains with your axe. They’ll flee one by one until the kitchen is empty except for you, sweating and panting with the effort of your axe work, Puck’s corpse and one remaining French woman, naked except for a chef’s hat, who has been bound there for almost half a decade as a sous chef for Puck.

“Merci,” she’ll mumble through her cracked, bloody lips. She’ll kiss the side of your face and rub her cheek against yours, smearing a tear into your beard. You’ll smile in response and take off your jacket, handing it to her.

Moments like this one are the reason you took up battling celebrity chef operated white slavery rings in the first place.

Congratulations on Murdering Wolfgang Puck!

Congratulations on Captaining That Ship Filled With Human Cargo!

Human trafficking isn't for everyone. A lot of people get into it because they're big old rapists, and a lot of other people get into it because they're friends with big old rapists but just don't know how to say no. You got into it because your daddy left you when you were just a boy and you didn't know no other way. Warn't your fault that folk couldn't understand a boy from the Balkans wanting to be something more, and it certainly warn't your fault that the only job you could find out of Balkan college happened to be running guns with mercenaries.

From there it was just a quick skip and a hop to human trafficking.

At first you just did it in trucks and vans, bringing a handful of refugees across the border at a time. They were almost always women, young, pretty women. You never asked where they were coming from or where they were going. Occasionally you'd move someone unusual through, a man or an elderly person. Sometimes you'd move children through: you'd always ask about them. A man has to have some principles.

After a few years of doing that, though, it just got old. So you decided to move on to bigger, better things. You saved up your pennies or rubles or whatever they use for money in that shithole you call a country and you bought a boat.

It wasn't a big boat - it was a sixty foot fishing boat, retrofitted to function as a small cargo ship. You decided to fill it up with people and set sail.

Your maiden voyage is going to be tonight (cops take the weekend off in your country, which makes your job super easy) and it's going to go swimmingly. No one is going to die or make trouble, which means you'll get all the money you thought you were going to get for the run: enough to pay for the ship and still have plenty to divvy up among your crew.

Also, you'll have customers who aren't just pervy old men trafficking in women and mobsters trying to get their family members out of the way of the law after committing murder or whatever. You'll have mostly moved families attempting to avoid one of your many festive genocides out of the country. And you'll have moved them into Turkey, a country with even looser borders than your own, and far fewer genocides of late.

So you'll feel good about being you, and you'll have launched a lucrative business venture that makes you, more or less, your own boss.

Congratulations on Captaining That Ship Filled With Human Cargo!